‘Who was it?’ Whoever he was, wherever he was, Giff would seek him out—and make him pay.
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now, anyway—killed in a stupid wager, racing curricles at night. I actually felt cheated when I heard. For weeks after the...incident, I’d teased Christopher into helping me practise with a pistol, telling myself some day I’d shoot him and that would finally put an end to it. But...it has never truly ended.’
Giff swiped a hand over his face, furious, appalled and aching for her pain. He didn’t know what to say. Words of comfort were meaningless in the face of the outrage perpetrated against her.
‘If what I’ve just told you makes you feel...differently towards me, I’ll understand.’
‘Feel differently?’ he echoed, uncomprehending.
‘Because I’m not the pure maid you thought me. I’m...spoiled.’
Aghast, he said, ‘You think I’d turn away from you, because—’
She nodded, scattering the tears now dripping down her cheeks. With a savage oath, he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.
Where she clung to him and wept.
He whispered soothing noises into her hair and held her close while his heart ached and rage burned...because he knew there was nothing he could do to right the wrong done to her.
Finally, the flow of tears slowed and she pushed away from him. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ he replied, catching her chin and making her look at him, so she would see and believe the absolute truth of what he was about to say. ‘But you’re right—I do think differently about you now. I always knew you were strong and courageous, but I had no idea how strong and brave. That at fifteen, scarcely more than child, you bore the whole weight of this horrendous tragedy on your shoulders, alone. To protect those you loved. I don’t know how you found the fortitude. I wish there were some way I could wipe the horror from your memory, but I can’t. I will do whatever I can, however, anything I can, to make it more...bearable.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I do find you attractive, which is why I’ve been so beastly, seeming to lead you on, then retreating. I was so afraid that if...if I let you go further, it would unleash all those ugly memories and...and I’d scream, or fight you, and I couldn’t bear that. But I know now, I must risk it and become fully your wife. You have the responsibility of the Earldom and need to provide it with an heir. And... I’ve never known a better man, or one I trusted more.’
He smiled. ‘I’m relieved to know you trust me. Do you also believe I would never hurt you?’
Again, that little nod.
‘And I never will. There will never be anything between us that you don’t want. Want—not just endure. There’s nothing I crave more than to make you fully my wife, but I will only do so when—if—you desire it as much as I do.’
She looked troubled. ‘I’m not sure I will ever truly desire...that.’
Holding up a hand to stay her from interrupting, he continued, ‘Forget about the Earldom and its heirs. That’s not important. What occurs between a man and a woman should be beautiful, not ugly. A mutual giving and taking only of pleasure. It will be that way between us, when you are ready. If you are ready. Not before. Never before.’
While she looked at him wonderingly, Giff managed a grin. ‘I won’t promise not to try to tempt you...but I will never take you. Now, dry your tears, my beautiful, strong, courageous wonder of a wife, and let’s go down for tea. It was a long drive and I’m devilishly thirsty.’
* * *
Late that night, Giff tiptoed into the bedchamber adjoining his to look down at his sleeping wife. Who, God be praised, after they’d gone down to join the rest of her family, had seemed much lighter and freer than when she’d left Fensworth. As if an intolerable burden had been lifted.
Which, he supposed, it had. He couldn’t imagine what it must have cost her, keeping her dreadful secret hidden for so many years.
He hadn’t worked out her violator’s identity until just a few moments ago, but the bastard who’d raped her must have been Ralph Petersmere. A man of dubious reputation, he’d chased after all the leading beauties of the day, Temper’s mother included. Then burned through most of his hapless wife’s fortune before dying in the wreck of his curricle during a mad dash across Hounslow Heath, his wager that he could do so in the pitch black of a cloudy, moonless night the talk of the clubs for weeks after the accident.
Had the man not already been dead, Giff would have arm-wrestled Temper to put a bullet through him.
Such sweet innocence, so brutally betrayed, he thought, gently brushing one burnished curl off her forehead. No wonder she reacted so bitterly to all the comments about how much she resembled her mother. His heart contracted again at the pain that miserable excuse for a man had made her endure.
Though he wanted with everything in him to help her heal, he hadn’t the remotest idea how to start. Nor was there anyone whose advice he could seek, without risking revealing the secret she’d suffered so much anguish to conceal.
He also knew that unless she did heal, they would never be lovers. Would he be able to stand the frustration of wanting her, knowing he might never have her?
She’d given him permission to slake that frustration elsewhere, of course. But for weeks now, he’d found the idea of intimacy with any other woman...unappealing. He was more than his lusts. And the only woman he really wanted was the fierce, beautiful, unconventional woman he’d married.
As he smiled down at her, an emotion so powerful he could scarcely contain it welled up to immerse him. With sudden, stark clarity, he realised that sometime over the past days or weeks, he had fallen in love with his wife. Simply, completely and absolutely.
He loved Temperance Lattimar with all the fierceness of someone who’d never fully loved, or been loved, before. He would stand by her and protect her and do everything he could to ensure her happiness.
Even if it meant letting her travel abroad without him. Even if it meant never making love to her as he ached to.
But as for the latter, he thought, just barely brushing her lips with one gentle finger, he wasn’t ready yet to abandon hope.
After all, she’d admitted she desired him. He would just have to move slowly, tempting her, teasing her, leading her one small step at a time deeper into intimacy. Until she was as ready and eager for that final step as he was.
He wouldn’t stop believing that some day, she would be.
But in the meantime, he’d need some respite from the continuous sensual response she sparked in him. Thank heavens he would be spending the next few days with other members of the factory commission out of London, continuing their evidence-gathering at a mill just beyond the city.
While he would spend his evenings working to convince Temper just how complete, pure and perfect a woman she truly was.
* * *
The next afternoon, with her husband away at his Parliamentary duties, Temper was reading in her chamber when Overton came up to inform her that Lady Sayleford awaited her in the drawing room below.
Marvelling at the anomaly of that lady calling on her not once, but twice, she quickly put her book away and walked down.
Was she calling to see if Temper had followed her advice about treating her godson gently? Especially since his response to her shocking revelations, Temper couldn’t imagine according him anything but gratitude, awe and reverence. In a world where gentlemen could conduct themselves as they chose, but women who didn’t meet an inflexible standard for purity were condemned, she couldn’t think of another man who would have treated her with such compassion.
Perhaps...perhaps he really did love her.
Certainly, there could be no greater love than attempting to understand the torment she’d suffered after the attack and pledging to do whatever he could to help her finally recover
.
And though he’d said he didn’t know how he could help—he already had. Just knowing she no longer carried alone the consequences of those terrible events eased the tightness that had sat like a boulder in her chest for the last seven years.
Perhaps some day, with Giff to lead her, she might even be able to contemplate the complete union between a man and a woman with something other than revulsion.
Right now, it was enough to know he knew and had comforted her, rather than rejected her.
Walking into the parlour, she made Lady Sayleford a deep curtsy. ‘What’s this, another visit? More deference to a lady who is your senior?’ she teased. ‘Although Giff tells me I shall not legally be Lady Fensworth until after he’s summoned to appear before the Lords.’
‘A mere formality,’ Lady Sayleford replied.
‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’
‘I’d heard you had both returned to London and that Gifford meant to continue his work in the Commons for as long as he is permitted. I hear he’s been learning all he needed to know about the running of the estate—a task for which, I understand, you provided considerable assistance. Thank you for that.’
‘You are most welcome. I can’t imagine why his father excluded him from the running of it for so many years. He’s more than worthy and capable of his family’s trust and admiration!’
She halted, near tears as she remembered his compassion and understanding yesterday. And thanked heaven that there was one secret in London Lady Sayleford didn’t know.
‘I’m glad to see you agree with my assessment of his worth. And perhaps are coming to believe you might be the right wife for him after all?’
‘I don’t know about that yet,’ Temper replied with a rueful smile. ‘But I am trying.’
Lady Sayleford nodded. ‘Good. I imagine, with your sister’s husband beginning a trading venture that rendered rather superfluous your plans to travel the world acquiring treasures for your father, you might be feeling as if you’ve...lost your purpose. I’d like to challenge you to become more involved and knowledgeable about your husband’s. To that end, I’ve brought you a copy of the “Report of the Select Committee on Factory Children’s Labour”, based on testimony collected by Michael Sadler’s Parliamentary committee last year. Though its publication this January was greeted by great public outcry, some in government argued the report was too one-sided and inflammatory. Which is why Gifford and his committee are now conducting further investigations. I thought you would find it...illuminating.’
She held out the heavy volume, which Temper accepted. ‘Thank you! I’m sure I shall. Can I offer you tea?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll leave you to read the report—and think about ways you might help Gifford advance his cause in the short time he’ll have before he must take his place in the Lords.’
‘I will certainly do so.’
‘That’s all I ask. Well, I shall leave you to it.’ As she walked out, Lady Sayleford paused, her surprisingly fond gaze fixed on Temper’s face. ‘I can’t think of anything that would delight me more than seeing dear Gifford happy. I shall hope for you both to regain your rightful places—together.’ After giving Temper’s cheek a gentle pat, she walked out.
Temper watched her disappear, once again having to take a deep, shuddering breath to force back tears. Gaining Lady Sayleford’s affection as well as her approval was a boon she’d never expected.
Now to follow her good advice. Hefting the heavy report, she headed back up to her bedchamber.
* * *
Hours later, Temper awakened from a light doze to see the candle on the table beside her had burned low—and to hear Giff’s distinctive step in the hallway outside her bedchamber. When he walked past to his own door, she jumped up and went to open the one between their adjoining chambers.
‘Temper!’ he said in surprise, halting on the threshold. ‘What are you doing up so late? Is something wrong?’
‘Not with me, but certainly within our nation.’
He came to her and she held her breath. Contradictory as it seemed, given the way she had run from him in Fensworth, his nearness now seemed to spark a response in every nerve, more intense than ever—despite the fact that her reluctance to pursue that attraction to its logical end had not abated.
Perhaps it was knowing that he knew the truth about her, and would not press her into any intimacy she did not want, that made her so acutely conscious of him—and unafraid to be aroused by him.
Instead of the kiss she expected, however, he merely brushed his lips against her cheek. Conscious of an illogical disappointment, she held up the Factory Commission Report.
‘Lady Sayleford lent me this, wanting me to understand more of the work you’re doing. I’ve just finished reading the whole document, and am shocked and appalled! I know it’s late and you must be tired, but could you take a few moments to tell me what your new committee is discovering? Are conditions truly as bad as those detailed in this report?’
‘Too tired to discuss my great passion? Other than you, of course,’ he added with a smile. ‘Of course not.’
‘Have you dined?’ She followed him to the sofa in the small sitting area shared by the two rooms. ‘I wouldn’t rouse Overton, but I could rustle about in the kitchen and find you something.’
‘Yes, we dined before we returned to London,’ he confirmed, placing his lighted candle on the table. ‘I’ll just pour myself a whisky. Would you like one?’
‘Not this time,’ she replied, taking a seat. ‘So, what has your committee found? I understand Sadler tried unsuccessfully to push through a bill in the last session, based on the evidence in this report. Do you think you will have any more success in this session?’
Bringing his drink with him to the sofa, he took a seat beside her, close enough to cause another delightful shiver to ripple through her. ‘Although the current commission thinks some of the claims of the Sadler report to be exaggerated, there is plenty of evidence to confirm many of the abuses it detailed. We expect shortly to finish gathering testimony and a bill has already been drafted.’
‘I’m so glad to hear it. Lady Sayleford seemed to think there might be something I could do to help, although I cannot imagine what.’
‘If you truly are interested, Lady Maggie, Lyndlington’s wife, has a Ladies’ Committee that is working with us. Writing letters to newspapers, to owners of mills who are opposing legislation, calling upon their sense of compassion towards the weakest and most powerless among us, the children. Not to mention, pointing out the practical fact that undernourished and fatigued workers will produce an inferior product, the sale of which would eventually damage the factory’s reputation and decrease demand for its products.’
‘Yes, I can imagine that argument being more effective,’ Temper said drily. ‘I will send Lady Lyndlington a note tomorrow, asking if I might join her at their next meeting.’
‘She would like that,’ Giff said, downing the rest of his whisky. ‘Did you wait up just to discuss this with me?’ At her nod, he said, ‘Then I’d better let you get some sleep.’
‘I’ll bid you goodnight, then.’
Before she could stand, she caught his eyes on her and froze. She felt his gaze, almost as palpable as a touch, travel slowly from her face down her neck to the swell of her breasts. Though he said nothing, she was intensely aware that she sat beside him clad just in a fine linen robe over an even thinner night rail.
She sucked in a breath, half-alarmed, half-eager, as he reached towards her. But he touched only her lips, slowly outlining them with a single fingertip, the pressure almost imperceptible. His gaze holding her mesmerised, he drew his hand back, kissed the fingertip, then brought it back once again to her lips, slightly moistened by its contact with his mouth.
Her breathing growing uneven, she remembered the softness of that mouth, the feel of his tongue a
gainst hers, licking, teasing. Heat began to spiral in her belly, while a skittering of sensation sparked below. Seemingly of their own accord, her lips parted.
She waited breathlessly, ready for him to place his mouth where his finger had been—tracing her lips, his tongue delving inside to suckle and caress.
Instead, he kissed her forehead and straightened. ‘Goodnight, my sweet wife.’
With that, he walked back to his bedchamber and closed the adjoining door.
Leaving her sitting alone on the sofa, her pulse racing, need spiralling in her belly—and not sure whether to be indignant or relieved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A week later, knowing the session would run late, Giff left Parliament in mid-afternoon, wanting to have tea with his lovely wife.
Better to see her during the day, in the near-public space of a parlour where at any time they might be interrupted, helping him keep a damper on his ardour.
Though Temper was responding to him more and more freely, he still tried not to return to his bedchamber until very late, when the promptings of conscience reined in his desire. It wasn’t fair to try to lure her into the intimacy he craved when she was too drowsy to be fully aware of what she was doing.
For when—and he was increasingly confident it would be when—he finally made love to her, he wanted their union to be a conscious choice, made while she was in full possession of her faculties. Not something drifted into in a sleepy haze that she might regret in the cold light of dawn.
The hackney dropped him off and he ran up the steps, telling Overton when the butler admitted him to ask Temper to join him in the small back sitting room and send in tea. He went there to wait for her, setting his gift on the table, filled with the delighted anticipation of seeing her.
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